Habits
by UnattemptedFeat
Summary: Sherlock has developed some parental habits.
1. Door

Sherlock's bedroom door was always kept wide open at night.

It was a habit he had developed when Elizabeth was little. With his door open, he had an unobstructed view of the stairs, landing, and bathroom. He also happened to be a light sleeper, which helped immensely. He could hear if something was happening and could run and help without a stupid door being in his way.

One night Sherlock was awoken by the sound of someone coming down the stairs. He thought it sounded like John, but a glance at the shadow told him that it wasn't. Elizabeth crept across the landing and into the living room. Sherlock waited to see if she would go back upstairs, but after five minutes, he went after her.

She was sitting on the couch reading _Jaber Crow_ by the light of the moon streaming through the windows. She didn't look up when Sherlock sat down next to her.

"Can't sleep?" Sherlock asked.

"No." Elizabeth said tersely.

"Any particular reason for it?" Sherlock pressed. His daughter's face was in shadow, so he couldn't deduce the information he wanted. It frustrated him when she puzzled him so. Even in the brightest light, she was sometimes hard to read. He liked to think that she got her mask from him.

"Not really." Elizabeth turned a page.

"Alright." Sherlock delved into his Mind Palace to pass the time. If Elizabeth went back to bed, he would do the same. But he also planned to stay down here with her if she didn't.

John raced down the stairs. He was going to be late!

He ran into the living room, frantically trying to find his mobile. When he finally located it among some animal bones, he straightened, preparing to dart out the door. But then a sight stopped him.

Sherlock and Elizabeth were both asleep on the couch. Sherlock sat against the cushions, and Elizabeth had her head on a pillow balanced on his lap. John took that opportunity to snap a photo of the family. Next time Sherlock claimed he felt no love, John could shut him up quick. Though granted, the detective had been using that line less and less frequently these days.

No matter what Sherlock said, everyone could see that he loved his daughter. Though John was never actually sure he had told her so.

But this was one of the moments that he _showed_ her.


	2. Check In

Sherlock had a habit of peeking in on Elizabeth before he went to bed. If he went to bed, that is. He didn't know why he did it. He just...did.

Sherlock jerked awake at three am. He had been in his Mind Palace, and he had obviously dozed off. He figured John would tell him that he should go to bed right now. Well, John was usually right.

But first, he'd just check on Elizabeth.

He traipsed up the stairs as quietly as he could, trying not to wake John or Elizabeth. He crossed the landing and peered around her open door.

Her bed was empty.

Sherlock pushed the door all the way open and walked in, gazing around for clues. Her bed was still perfectly made, so she hadn't slept in it. Nothing was out of place. Nothing at all. Did she actually keep her room tidy? What teenager did that?

He started to leave. Maybe she'd gone to stay at a friend's and he'd forgotten.

But then he saw her window.

It was wide open. Sherlock rushed to it, examining every inch of its surface. It had obviously been opened from the inside. Someone had crawled through it. Less than an hour ago, by the temperature of the room. They had been wearing Converse shoes, judging by the scuff marks. They had painted their nails a shiny silver, leaving tiny flecks where they opened the window.

Wait.

Elizabeth owned Converse shoes, and she had reluctantly allowed Mrs. Hudson to paint her fingernails silver last week.

Sherlock climbed out the window, thankful he was still wearing his suit and shoes. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and activated an app he had downloaded. It showed precisely where Elizabeth's phone was and where it had been.

Right now she was in Regent's Park. She was stationary at the moment, and Sherlock hoped she would stay that way. He hurried to the park and started to scan the area.

After ten minutes of looking, he came across a bench. Two teenagers were talking intently, gazing into each other's eyes sickeningly. Then they leaned forward, the boy taking the girl's face in his hands. Oh God, they were going to kiss. Sherlock turned away in disgust.

But not before he saw a pair of Converse shoes and a flash of silver.

"Elizabeth!" Sherlock tore the boy away from his daughter, shoving him roughly to the ground.

"Tommy!" Elizabeth froze on the bench, staring after the boy on the ground.

"Mr. Holmes!" The little creep scrambled to his feet. He brushed himself off and stuck out his hand awkwardly. "I'm Tommy Blue. It's so good to finally meet you." He put his hand down when Sherlock didn't take it.

Sherlock didn't care who he was. He could've been the freaking _prince_ for all he cared. This boy had just kissed _his_ daughter. This was not acceptable.

Elizabeth sensed her father's fury, "Dad, calm down. It was just a kiss."

Sherlock just stood there, contemplating the many creative ways he could _destroy_ this boy.

"Erm...Tommy, maybe you should go." Elizabeth looked to the boy frantically.

"Are you sure?" Tommy seemed a little unsure. He glanced at Sherlock, appraising his rage level. Did this boy seriously think he would ever hurt Elizabeth?

"Yeah," Elizabeth nodded. "I'll call you tomorrow."

Tommy said goodbye, and Sherlock let him leave, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to mutilate this kid. Elizabeth still hadn't moved from the bench. She was watching Sherlock intently.

Sherlock took a deep breath and sat down on the bench next to her. He clasped his hands in his lap and stared down at them.

"Dad, we really weren't doing anything." Elizabeth insisted. "We were just talking. He was saying how he really liked me, and how he was afraid to ask me something. I told him to just say it, and he...kissed me. He's really sweet, and he didn't try anything, I promise."

Sitting there, Sherlock realized that John would have said that he had overreacted. John was probably right. Sherlock wondered when his mind had started letting John's voice take over as his conscience. He had to admit, though. John was doing a pretty good job. He was better with the emotions area anyways.

"I'm..." Sherlock sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I understand that you're mad." Elizabeth rambled. "I understand if you want to ground me until I'm eighty, and I... Wait, what?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're...you're sorry?" Elizabeth still seemed really confused.

"Yes, I overreacted. I trust that you weren't doing anything I wouldn't condone." Sherlock said.

"Erm, wow. Okay." Elizabeth looked up at the stars, barely visible in the lights of London. "John is really rubbing off on you."

"I know." Sherlock made a sour face. "Everytime I tell Anderson he's an idiot, which is true of course, I hear him tell me that I shouldn't. Apparently, it is a rude thing to do."

"I can't imagine why." Elizabeth smiled, and Sherlock grinned back.

"We should probably be getting back." Sherlock stood and offered a hand to Elizabeth. She took it and stood as well. "I am sorry about the whole thing with...Tommy. But I do wish you would not sneak out. If you go out at three in the morning, at least leave a note."

"I'll do that." Elizabeth promised. "Besides if I didn't, you know what John would say?"

"Elizabeth Holmes, if you don't tell us where you are going, I will have Mycroft build a massive dungeon. We will lock you in the dungeon for the rest of your live."

"You'd break me out, right?" Elizabeth smirked.

"Of course."


	3. The Call

Sherlock had a habit of responding to the word 'Dad'. He would hear the name in the street, and, even though he knew it wasn't directed at him, he couldn't help but look for who called it. He figured it was a parent thing.

It came in useful sometimes.

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock." Someone was calling him.

"Sherlock!" He really wished they would just shut up.

"Sherlock, answer me!" Why couldn't they leave him alone?

"Dad." Oh, Elizabeth was calling him now.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. John was glaring down at him, fists clenched. Elizabeth was looking at them from across the room. Had he missed something? John should know not to interrupt him when he was in his Mind Palace.

"Yes, Elizabeth?" He glanced at his daughter, who rolled her eyes.

"Oh my God!" What on earth was John so mad about?

"What?"

It could be annoying sometimes.

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock." Dear God, couldn't they see he was in the middle of examining this very interesting body?

"Sherlock!" Whatever it was, he was sure it could wait. Murder was much more interesting.

"Watch this...Dad!"

Sherlock looked up sharply. Lestrade was grinning, and Anderson and Donavan were roaring with laughter.

"I was going to ask, Sherlock, if you had found anything interesting," Lestrade explained.

Sherlock spouted his deductions angrily and swept out of the crime scene. He silently cursed his parental instinct.

He was just about to get into a taxi when he heard the call.

"Dad!" He looked about reflexively, scanning for the person who had called.

Elizabeth was running up the pavement towards him. He backed out of the taxi, and it quickly sped off in search of another passenger. Sherlock scrutinized her briefly, not observing any injuries or other frightening things.

"Answer your phone!" Elizabeth skidded to a halt in front of him. She bent to catch her breath.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," Elizabeth breathed. "Mycroft sent me. He told me it was urgent. I'm glad I caught you, I really didn't want to run after a cab."

"What does Mycroft need me for this time?" Sherlock pretended to be irritated, but inside he was bursting with excitement.

And of course, Elizabeth could see that, "He wouldn't tell me. He just said to literally run and get you."

"Well, this should be interesting."

Together they raced back to Baker Street.


End file.
